It was 11:02 p.m. when the blare of an all too familiar ring tone roused me from my beer fueled reverie.

I had been dreamily envisioning myself a director extraordinaire, surrounded by starry eyed ingénues, cavorting with Cecil B DeMille. I had fancied myself sporting jodhpurs and a beret as I perched menacingly over my cowering minions on a tall collapsible folding chair, barking commands. Stage left! More feeling!

Of course I knew about as much about directing as I did laparoscopic gall bladder surgery, but regardless, for these next two months I intended to exploit my newly appointed artistic authority to the fullest. After all show business certainly proved more engaging than waiting idly by for my sorry unemployment checks or watching reruns of The View.

I glanced at the clock as I fumbled for my increasingly impatient phone. In only fifty seven minutes I could officially write off the first day of this charade as a marginal success, or, at the very least not a complete fiasco.

Da-na-na-na, da-na-na-na. The menacing theme song from Jaws continued in digitized twangs as I reluctantly answered my cell. What theatrical 911 could Red be calling about now?

“Steve, I’ve got it” Red’s impossibly chipper voice chimed as I picked up. We were beyond obligatory salutations.

“You’ve got what Red?” I asked cautiously, rubbing my forehead.

“The Place Steve! The Venue! It’s a diamond in the rough but a diamond!”

I released an audible sigh.

“Care to check it out?’

“You picked a venue? Where? I thought I was in on key decisions” I snapped like a petulant child.” Wait a minute, what did it matter to me? Was I starting to genuinely care about this dog and pony show?

“Relax, of course your in on the decisions” Red cooed, “I can nix it if you don’t approve, just give me the say so. But trust me, you’re going to love it.”

“Fine, call me first thing tomorrow, we‘ll take a ...”

“Actually, Steve, I thought you’d want to check it out now.”

“Now? Red, it’s late, shouldn’t you be….getting your rest? Rhonda will….”

“Rest is for those without inspiration” Red mused, ignoring my condescension.“ Anyway, Rhonda’s at her book club and I’m already right outside”

He’s joking, please. I pulled the curtain, surprised I hadn’t noticed the sedan, lights on, parked in a sloppy haphazard diagonal across my driveway; like those smooth TV city detectives who screech into suddenly available parking spaces when they’re on the chase.

“Red, I’m in my pajamas.” I pleaded lamely, eyeing my fleece pants adorned with polar bears frolicking on snowmobiles. I had topped it off with another of Macy’s unique gift choices, a sweatshirt emblazoned in red letters: “Designers do it with style”. It had been a slow laundry week.

“We’ll just drive by” Red pleaded, “and I’ll drop you right back home, ten minutes tops. You don‘t even need to get out of the car. Carpe diem, Steve.”

I don’t think risking life and limb on the road with a delusional retiree turned thespian in the cloak of night was what Horace had in mind, but I was on Red’s payroll, so carpe diem, it was.

I jotted a quick note to a sleeping Macy and against all sound judgment, climbed into the car.

“Buckle up, it’s going to be a bumpy ride” Red snickered as I rechecked my seatbelt. My God, now he’s Betty Davis. “Hey, nice jammies, by the way.”

I rolled my eyes and gripped the dashboard as Red veered onto the desolate freeway. Next exit twelve miles. Unless my father-in-law planned on breaking the sound barrier, this was going to be no ten minute round trip.

“Just a stone’s throw” he announced cheerily, his notepad clutched in one hand. The blue instrument lights illuminated the swirls of ballpoint pen embellishing his forehead like some exotic tribal tattoo; yes, Red was in rare form tonight.

“I’m telling you Steve, this theater business has given me a whole new lead on life, a purpose… a passion…. you hungry?” he suddenly cranked the wheel a sharp one hundred degrees against the rattle of gravel and aroma of burning rubber, hitting the brakes just before demolishing a six foot smiling donut holding up a “we’re open” sign.

“We’re going to need some fuel, keep those creative juices in overdrive”

“I’ll wait here” I muttered, a sidelong glance at my snow laden polar bears.

“Nonsense” Red snorted, “we’re artists, we‘re expected to dress eccentrically”.

I slammed the door. Wardrobe choice be damned, I was definitely going to need caffeine, for this one, STAT.

“I’m telling you Steve, this Sherman, he’s our meal ticket” he rambled on as a tired teen loaded a dozen donuts into a cardboard Mr. Yum-Yum box, glaring uncertainly at Red’s ink covered forehead

“No, two strawberry frosted” Red barked not missing a beat. “We’re lucky to have Sherman“ he continued “…to have someone who really knows theater and his looks just shout “leading man” My God he’s a young Errol Flynn.”

“We’ll see” I muttered, cringing as I recalled Macy’s deliberation earlier that evening over her outfit for tomorrow’s rehearsal. “I need to look,…professional” she had explained, pondering a low-cut silk top usually reserved for “date night”; that is, when we had “date nights”. “After all, I’m on the production team” she smiled lifting a pair of sparkling gold hoops to her ear.

I grabbed a mega-jumbo coffee and we were back on the road.

“Just up on the right” Red announced as we navigated the dim streets of a modest and somewhat tired neighborhood. “used to be some dance club, got a stage, lighting…everything we need”

The commercial street boasted a small deli, a seedy electronics store, Discount Dollarland and voila…in a small but free standing building, Red’s new venue.

“Here she is” he grinned. “I know what you’re thinking…needs a little work…”

Red had no idea what I was thinking. It was clear the place had been out of business some time. The large once illuminated sign only hinted at traces of its former moniker but I could clearly make out the shadowy remnants of XXX under what seemed to have once been voluptuous dancing female silhouettes.

“Red… what kind of club…?”

“Hey questions later Muscles, grab that big box in the back won‘t you” he quipped, popping open the trunk with his key remote, as he clutched the donut box.

“My God, what’s in here …?” I pondered aloud, wrestling the monstrously heavy cube of industrial cardboard and packing tape onto the sidewalk..

“It’s a surprise, Steve…all in good time. Just call it…ambiance.” Red chuckled as he fumbled with a ring of keys, giving the front door a surprisingly forceful kick.

I was out of questions.

“So…..What do ya’ think?” Red beamed, as he flicked a switch, setting the space awash in weak fluorescent light.

A large stage ran along one wall, curtained in a dingy black velveteen. Two large silver poles stood proudly in the center.

“We’ll get rid of these” Red snapped, seeming annoyed, “Obviously someone didn’t understand stage design.”

I set the box on the edge of the stage and turned slowly, surveying Red’s find. A cluster of small grimy black tables and stacks of chairs rested in one corner opposite a good size bar, still boasting an array of lewd shot glasses.

“Stay there. I’ve got a surprise” Red chirped dragging the box behind the curtain. He dimmed the lights and after a few moments of what sounded like raccoons on a back porch, an odd acrid smell began to permeate the room.

“So, how much for this place?” I was curious.

“Hmmm, not exactly sure on all the details.” Red’s voice was distracted.

“Not sure?” I was getting nervous.

“Well, as I said, it’s not a done deal. Joe the plumber is doing some work on the place for the owners. Thought it might be perfect for us. Lent me the keys…”

Suddenly a thin white haze rolled across the stage, thickening as it spilled onto the faded linoleum.

“Red, what on earth?” I coughed as the fog rose in generous clouds. I cracked a small blackened window as wisps of white mist drifted upward.

Red twirled out of the smog, center stage, like a performer in an ice show.

“Fog machine baby! Got it on eBay! Isn’t it fabulous?” Did he just call me baby?

“Red are we supposed to be here?” I coughed again.

Ignoring my concern, Red rambled on about setting as character, backlighting and dramatic irony. He paced the stage ad nauseum to “experience” the space and flicked the lights on and off in a myriad of combinations.

“A strobe!” he shrieked with delight as the gossamer blanket of fog filling the room flickered in phosphorescent hues of purple and gold.

“Red, it‘s really late…”

“Hold it right there!” the voice barked from the entryway. “Police.”

I turned to stone.

Slowly I rotated my petrified body to face two officers of the law; a mixture of grizzled crime fighting determination and slight amused bewilderment blanketing their faces as they eyed my whimsical clothing selection. They merely cocked an eyebrow as Red emerged from the murky vapor, a noxious pink donut in one hand, forehead smudged smurf blue from the man made mist.

“We had a complaint of some noise…and smoke?” they stated soberly. “Do you own this establishment?”

“Officers, it’s ok, this is our venuuuue. We’re theatrical producers.” Red reasoned crumbs spilling from the corners of his mouth. “This isn’t smoke. Dry ice! It sets the mood.”

“Do either of you have identification?” they continued unimpressed.

Instinctively I patted my pants, where if I was actually wearing real pants, a wallet would be.

“No pockets in those things?” one officer snickered.

“Officers, officers” Red continued. “It’s fine. We’re producing a play. Community theater. Checking out the space.”

“Got that Jimmy? We have some theaaater folk.”

I clutched my forehead, willing myself to sink into the grubby floor tile.

“Hey, Big Guy, you’ve got real stage presence…ever act?” an oblivious Red addressed the taller of the two.

“Well actually, in college….” the officer blushed, “but that’s immaterial. As I said, we’re going to need to see some I.D” he mumbled some numbers into his crackling radio.

The whine of sirens were sounding in the distance. Fabulous! the fire department would soon be joining us too!

“Gentlemen, no need for concern” Red urged, “just a misunderstanding. If you’re interested we’re still auditioning you know. Perhaps this can sweeten the deal?” He flaunted the carton of outdated donuts before them like a game show prize.

I had heard of the phenomenon of spontaneous human combustion and sent up a silent prayer. It would be a fate less cruel.

“Look, uh, boys, we just need to know what’s going on here” the police officer argued, exasperated.

“I was thinking the same thing!” a familiar voice boomed. “Just exactly what is going on?”